


Icarus

by ichilover3 (makasouls)



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6450547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makasouls/pseuds/ichilover3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If flying this close to her means he'll be stripped of his wings, he will gladly fall in a heartbeat. [Shikamaru and Temari after the war]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icarus

He knows immediately when she enters the tent, because he is always aware of her, even if only peripherally, his chakra constantly seeking hers, always giving his brain the confirmation that yes, she is here, so make his heart beat faster, and don’t forget to make his palms threaten to sweat. It’s been like this for years, but now, now that they’re both here, her chakra gives his brain confirmation that yes, she is here, she is alive, so he can keep breathing too. It’s okay.

As always, he sleeps on his back (something his mother has always given him shit for, because what kind of shinobi exposes his middle to potential enemies? Even dogs know better. But does it even matter at this point?), though, to be honest, he never actually sleeps before she appears, just stares at the back of his eyelids and listens to the far away, muffled explosions with a panic that has been slowly rising beneath his skin ever since this had begun.

The other cots are occupied, which may be why she doesn’t hesitate to come to his. He doesn’t open his eyes—merely turns on his side and scoots back to make room as she unstraps her fan from her back and drops it on the ground. The beds aren’t made to hold more than one person, certainly not with someone as tall and lanky as he is, but she fits herself into the small space anyway, her front to his, resting her face against his collarbone.

She smells like dirt and sweat and blood and war and he wants to lick it off her skin, because beneath it all he knows she’d taste like the sun, and he’s so fucking sick of pretending he isn’t Icarus. But he just settles for sliding his arm over her middle (to stop her from falling? Or himself?), as if he has been doing it for years, as if it belongs there, because honestly, doesn’t it?

“I’m so sorry,” she says, and he feels her words as well as hears them, feels the unspoken _about your father_ , feels them seep through her skin and caress his. He had been able to ignore the pressure in his chest because he had to—had to keep going and keep thinking and keep _living_ , because everyone was counting on him—but now that it’s all essentially over, that it’s just him, him and her drawing idle patterns into his lower back, beneath his flack vest, the intense burning starts behind his eyes.

He blinks rapidly, unable to stop it, but she says nothing when the tears reach her hair. He clears his throat gruffly. “I dreamed about you.”

Her fingers halt on his skin. Her eyelashes flutter against his neck, and there’s a long pause before she answers in kind. “Me too.”

He lets out a watery laugh, because she saw him in the Infinite Tsukuyomi, and that has to mean something, has to mean exactly what he’s hoped for a while. “I dream about you,” he breathes into her hair, and he knows that she can immediately tell the difference, understands the present tense, hears the continuity of it ( _I dreamed of you for years and I still do and I always will_ ) because she is _Temari_ and she is so fucking smart, and beautiful, and _perfect_ , and if flying this close to her means he’ll be stripped of his wings, he will gladly fall in a heartbeat.

She exhales, the breath long and hot as if it had been trapped inside her forever. “Get some sleep. We have a long road ahead of us.”

And because he is Shikamaru, he is smart enough to understand the _we_.


End file.
